The Guests of Pemberley House
by elliejelliebean
Summary: The visitors to Pemberley House often see more than just beautiful halls and pleasant landscaping. They come to see the house, but are sometimes caught up in scenes from the life of its occupants. What will they witness of the life of Mr. and Mrs. Darcy?
1. The Addisons

**A/N: I was so flustered when posting this that adding a chapter title and author's note completely escaped my mind. So to new readers, I will extend to you all a brief welcome and tell you all that I truly hope that you will enjoy this collection of tourist's accounts. Please review, if you have a moment, and tell me what you think, for reviews are most appreciated. **

**A/N #2: I confess myself to be, at present, very mortified. I was rereading Pride and Prejudice when I happened to notice the most menacing little letter--an "e", nestled right between that l and that y in the word PemberlEy. I quickly brought up my account, and saw, to my horror, the mispelled PEMBERLY, in my title, my summary, and every chatper so far! How embarassing! So I write this little author's note to ask your forgiveness for my extremely absent-minded mispelling. I am sorry if it hindered your enjoyment of the story. **

**P.S. I'll try and update soon, if I can. I am so sorry to make you wait--life just seems to get in the way, does it not? **

**P.S.S. I'm sorry. Long author's notes suck. **

The Addisons

On the day during which this story is set, Mrs. Reynolds had been a servant at Pemberley House some twenty-eight years. She had therefore become accustomed to the many tourists that came to the front door, wishing to tour the spectacular rooms and grounds. These tourists, it seemed, had only increased in frequency since the addition of a Mrs. Darcy to the household four years ago had caused a minor scandal among England's elite.

But the week in question had been strangely devoid of guests. Usually, they got some four visits a day. This was of some annoyance to Mrs. Darcy, Mrs. Reynolds knew, but Mrs. Darcy could hardly complain, for she had been a guest to the house once herself and looked upon the occasion with much felicity. This week, Mrs. Darcy had little cause for secret displeasure at their numerous visitors, for during the last six days there had been virtually none. Mrs. Reynolds attributed this to the unseasonably cold weather that they had been experiencing.

Thus, when the bell at the door rang at midday after almost a week of silence, both Mrs. Reynolds, who was dusting a table in the main hall, and Mrs. Darcy, enjoying a book in the parlor, were startled. Mrs. Reynolds jumped a little before smoothing her skirt and moving to answer the door. On her way there, she caught a glimpse of Mrs. Darcy, who had looked up from her book at the sound of the doorbell, and now returned to it with a small sigh.

Upon opening the door, Mrs. Reynolds saw a man and a woman, dressed as if they were mildly wealthy, come to tour the house. After introductions were made and they were reassured that yes, it was quite fine that they visit the house and no, there was no cost for the tour, Mrs. Reynolds led them into the parlor, the first room shewn in the visits.

They again went through a lengthy introduction with the warm and cheerful Mrs. Darcy, whom they appeared to like very much. As they turned to continue with the tour, Mrs. Darcy called,

"Mrs. Reynolds, I find myself in need of a good long walk on the grounds. In the event that Mr. Darcy returns before me, kindly inform him of my whereabouts and reassure him that I will return shortly. I'll be off now. It was a pleasure meeting you, Mr. and Mrs. Addison."

And with that, in a style very unique to herself, Mrs. Darcy set the book she had been reading spine-down on the table as to hold her place, and was off for her walk. She didn't seem to give much thought to her beautiful dress or the fact that she had no cloak to shield her from the cold; it was evident from the look in her eyes that her mind was already among the trees.

Upon Mrs. Darcy's exit, Mrs. Addison turned to Mrs. Reynolds.

"Your Mistress is very charming," said she.

"Yes, upon living among her it has become quite easy to understand why Mr. Darcy fell so in love with her."

"Is he still?" the woman wanted to know.

"Very much so, yes. They look at each other with the same eyes they did when they first entered Pemberly as husband and wife."

"That is good to hear, certainly. Do they argue?" she asked, with a glance at her husband.

"Not so much argue, I think, as quarrel. They're quite playful when they encounter something disagreeable, actually."

"Lovely. And how many are their children?"

"They have one small son, and then, of course, Mr. Darcy's sister Miss Darcy, whom they treat as their own. They are most loving to their children. And keep your voices low, for Mr. Darcy does not yet know this, but Mrs. Darcy has reason to believe that she is again with child."

"Oh!" Mrs. Addison exclaimed. The rest of the tour followed with Mrs. Reynolds much praising both her masters in a manner which did not hint that she was speaking falsehoods; it looked as if she truly adored everyone in the house.

Mrs. Reynolds left them upon their exiting the house to view the grounds. The Addisons bid the servant farewell and went off to explore the beautiful forest. They walked along the stream, and because Mr. Addison was a lover of fish, he frequently knelt before the stream to get a closer look. Their progress, therefore, was slow, and Mrs. Addison felt herself getting agitated with her husband.

"You are too slow for me, my dear. I think I'll walk ahead a bit."

He was too engrossed to reply.

He had always been a great lover of nature. It was one of the things about him with which she had fallen in love. He could sit, resting his back against a tree, for hours and hours, nothing in his head but thoughts about the swaying of the grass and the rustling of the leaves. She admired that, for she couldn't do any such thing. Wandering through a beautiful forest like this, her mind was on her failing relationship with her husband, and not with matters of her surroundings.

She had married, years ago, for love. It was a silly, frivolous thing to do, as she saw now. At the time of her marriage her prospects and her place in society were high, and with a little work she could have been the mistress of a place like Pemberley. She was a stupid, stupid woman. She could have had the glow that lights up Mrs. Darcy's face, rather than the dead sort of grayish hue that she saw on her own these days. Mr. and Mrs. Addison weren't poor, but their house was nothing special, and her daughters would go on to marry a man with 1000 pounds a year just as she had. How improved her situation could have been! It almost killed her to look back upon that now.

Oh, how she had loved her husband, with his open heart and his easy smile. He was a good man, a very good man, and at the time she had had no regrets. And these days, he took her criticisms like the good man that he was, which just made her resent him more.

She was stupid; she owed her own unhappiness to herself and getting to caught up in a man when she was younger. She could have been just like Mrs. Darcy. Mrs. Addison was unbearably jealous of the woman's situation. Of course Mrs. Darcy was happy and friendly—she had the world at her feet! Mrs. Addison lived a life of mediocrity when she could have had riches, a life of stress when she could have been careless.

But oh, how she had loved her husband.

She was broken out of her reverie by a voice, loud enough that she deduced it was quite near her.

"Lizzy!" called a man. Mrs. Addison turned in the direction from which the voice came, and saw a tall, dark man that she assumed to be Mr. Darcy. On following his gaze, she saw Mrs. Darcy sitting on a rock by the stream not so far in the distance. When he called to her, they both began to run to each other. On meeting, his hands took her face in his and their lips met. Mrs. Addison was quite shocked—clearly, they were quite sure that they were alone in their forest. However, Mrs. Addison was still a little surprised at that sort of behavior coming from two people of their rank. She averted her eyes, embarrassed, but couldn't bring herself to walk away from the scene.

When they broke apart, Mr. Darcy put his arms around his wife and held her to his chest. They stood in a casual embrace.

"How wonderful it is to say hello to you in private," he said quietly into her ear. "I usually have to restrain myself when I first see you after coming back from excursions such as these."

"Yes; it is quite nice to greet each other without an audience, isn't it?" she said into his jacket.

"Certainly," he agreed.

"How is my sister?" she asked anxiously, drawing back to look him in the eye.

"She is well. She requests that we come to stay at Howe for a week in a fortnight, for that is when she is due to give birth."

Mrs. Darcy's eyes were suddenly curious—she looked as if she was making a split second decision. Then a mischievous smile came to her lips and she began,

"Oh, how wonderful it will be, to have a child so close in age to my sister's!"

"But Fitzwilliam is almost twenty-three moons older. Surely that is not so close?"

"Why no, two years is not so close, but I daresay seven months is quite near."

Mr. Darcy looked very confused for a moment, before understanding entered his eyes.

"You're…?"

Mrs. Darcy looked at him for a moment, before a beautiful smile lit up her face and she nodded her head.

"Elizabeth, that is…I am so…" Mr. Darcy was at a bit of a loss for words, and he stuttered to try and make a sentence. He gazed into her eyes, and with each passing second his smile grew bigger. Suddenly, it appeared as if he could contain his joy no longer, and he began to kiss her with more passion than he had before. He hitched her thighs up around his waist without breaking the kiss so that he was holding her, and then he was spinning her, their lips still together.

Mrs. Addison felt her brain command her eyes to look away, but she could not. Her brain commanded her also to move her body, for at any second she would move within Mr. Darcy's line of vision and he would see her. But her body would not budge, and yet as she passed within his line of sight he did not see her; he had only eyes for his wife. Mrs. Addison felt as if Mr. Dacry could look at her square in the eyes and all that he would see would be Mrs. Darcy. She studied his countenance for a hint of the proud, self-important man of which she had heard tales, but saw nothing of the sort. At the present moment, his face was colored with nothing but adoration, a very becoming emotion for the man.

Upon three quarter's revolution, Mrs. Addison saw Mrs. Darcy's face, and saw that same glow of contentment on her countenance that she had had in the parlor, but intensified ten—no, one hundredfold! She was the happiest person that Mrs. Addison had ever seen.

And suddenly Mrs. Addison understood—Elizabeth Darcy did not get her happiness from fine jewelry, for she wore none but her wedding band. She did not get her happiness from beautiful gowns, for she had dirtied hers without seeming to notice. She did not get her happiness from grand mansions, for it was quite clear that she preferred to spend her time out of doors.

She got her happiness from her husband, and not his wealth or his status. Happiness lit up her face at the sight of him, not their house.

Perhaps Victoria Addison had not been so frivolous to marry for love.

Perhaps she had in her husband, a man that she truly did love dearly, a gift and not a hindrance. How curious this was! How different from her way of thinking these past five years!

Mrs. Addison forced her eyes away from the scene. This was a private celebration; she would leave them to it.

Instead of going ahead on the path, she turned back and walked along the stream. When her husband was within seeing distance, she called to him.

"Ben!" she yelled. He looked up, confusion distorting his boyish face in a way that made her heart beat just a fraction of a second faster. The smile of her youth appeared on her face, making her eyes light up and her cheeks color.

And she ran to him.


	2. The Clairfields

**A/N: Thank you all for your kind reviews for the last chapter. You have no idea how much reviews mean to an author--your response was enough to make me definitively decide to make this a series as opposed to a one-shot, so look for more chapters in the future. And, without further ado, please enjoy the Clairfield's story, set just about seven months after the last...**

The Clairfields

The second that Mr., Mrs., and Miss Clairfield entered Pemberley House one September morning, it became very clear that they had chosen the wrong day to visit. Usually, houses as grand as this were for the most part unoccupied, but the sight that greeted the Clairfields as they walked through the door was of 3 children running across the entryway and dashing up the stairs. Seconds later came an old, haggard looking woman with a toddler on her hip, running after them.

The servant that had opened the door for them tried to talk over all of the noise. "We are so sorry," said she, "but today Mrs. Darcy is in labor and we are not accepting any visitors—"

But she was interrupted by the woman calling after the children. "Elizabeth! Catherine! George!" she shrieked, struggling to chase them and failing to their youthful agility. She turned to enlist the help of the servant. When she saw that they had guests, she instantly changed her face.

"Oh why hello!" she said warmly. "I'm Mrs. Bennet, good to meet you. I take it you are here to tour the house? 'Tis a house worth seeing, no doubt. My daughter, you know, is the mistress here, Elizabeth Darcy? She enjoys it, I do suspect, but she is ever so modest, never talking about her privileged lifestyle in front of those less fortunate. This is her son, you know, Fitzwilliam? And just about now she's having another child, which is the reason for this chaos. Oh, dear me, the children! Mrs. Reynolds, could you?"

"Certainly," said the servant, and she hurried up the stairs after Elizabeth, Catherine, and George.

"May I shew you into the parlor?" Mrs. Bennet asked the guests. Mr. Clairfield nodded shyly, quite sure that he no longer wished to see the house and the chaos that came with a new child and yet sensing that Mrs. Bennet would not be very happy with them if they declined.

The parlor proved to be no calmer a place. A tall, dark man was pacing anxiously in front of the window while a girl read in a quiet chair in the corner. Another girl, no older than seventeen, calmly talked with two women on a sofa. Four men, two young and two elderly, were immersed in their own conversation somewhere else in the room.

"Everyone!" said Mrs. Bennet. "Everyone!" she called, louder. Nine faces turned to look at her exasperatedly.

"These are the…" Mrs. Bennet looked at the Clairfields for the name. Mrs. Clairfield interjected:

"Clairfields."

"Yes, yes, the Clairfields," Mrs. Bennet said. "The come to tour the house."

"Today?" One of the elderly men interjected. The man pacing in front of the window also looked surprised and a little frustrated at the news.

"Well, yes, Mr. Bennet, obviously today! Please forgive my husband," she said to the Clairfields. She proceeded to introduce them all.

"The girl in the corner there is my daughter, Mary Bennet. Her fiancé is over here, talking to Mr. Bennet. The other two young men in conversation are my daughter Jane's husband Mr. Bingley and my brother, Mr. Gardiner. His wife is over talking with my daughter Kitty Bennet, and they are conversing with Mr. Bingley's sister Caroline. Oh, and pacing in front of the window is Mr. Darcy, Elizabeth's husband."

Mr. and Mrs. Clairfield took in none of this, and their daughter only deciphered from Mrs. Bennet's introduction that none of the men were single.

"I'm afraid that there won't be much of the house to see today; my daughter has strictly forbidden anyone to go upstairs save my daughter Jane and dear Georgiana Darcy. Never mind we come all this way, and me in my bad health…" She looked very agitated. "No, we all must stay in the _parlor_ for news. Silly girl, it's a wonder she married so well…"

Miss Clairfield, who was staring fairly shamelessly at Mr. Darcy, could have sworn that she saw him roll his eyes at this. He walked forward and addressed Mr. Bingley in a low voice.

"I think I'll go upstairs again and request to see her. She won't allow me, but no matter. I can't bear it here. Come and find me if you hear news."

"I think I'll accompany you, Mr. Darcy," said Caroline. He shot her a look that was both very confused and very agitated, but addressed her politely none the less.

"Certainly, Caroline," he said.

"And I'll show our guests a bit more of the downstairs," said Mrs. Bennet to the room at large. No one heard or addressed her. She led them out of the parlor, but before she exited the room, Mrs. Clairfield heard a snippet of conversation between Kitty Bennet and Mrs. Gardiner.

"I tell you, Mr. Darcy is horrid unpleasant when he's not around Lizzy. I never realized it before because he is so rarely without her," Kitty Bennet said.

"He's just worried about her. He's not always this way when removed from her company," Mrs. Gardiner reassured her. "He's much more amiable since they married. And she more sensible and accepting. A good match, aye Kitty?"

And then it was odd for Mrs. Clairfield to linger any longer and she followed the party into the library.

But upon entering, little Fitzwilliam suddenly threw up all over a very disgruntled Mrs. Bennet's dress.

"Oh dear me! You silly child! I swear it, you have your mother in you already. Always creating trouble, and such a lack of concern for clothes and bonnets! Are you sickly, young man?" She asked him. Then she turned to the Clairfields.

"Do occupy yourselves with books while I go wash up and get a servant to tend to you and this little pest," she said shrilly.

The Clairfields nodded their heads awkwardly and followed orders. Miss Clairfield chose not a book off the shelf but one lying on a table by the chair next to the door, clearly being read at present. _Emma_, it was called.

She sat down in the chair but couldn't bring herself to concentrate on the book, for outside in the hall a very interesting conversation could be heard from her place by the door.

"To bring guests into the house on a day like this! Stupid woman!" Caroline Bingley was saying. "And all her talk of advantageous marriages. It must be wearing on you to have her around. Truly, Mr. Darcy, I do pity you."

"Do not pity me," he said, exasperated. "I am most content, save the fact that I must return now to that dreadful parlor. I don't see why Elizabeth is so adamant…" He trailed off.

"Oh yes, _Elizabeth_," Caroline snickered. "Your controversial wife. And how are things going between the two of you?"

Mr. Darcy, who, judging by the sound of footsteps, was walking towards the parlor, said tonelessly, "Wonderful, Caroline."

She seemed to confuse his frustration with her as pent-up frustration with his wife, for the next thing that came from her mouth was said in a rather seductive tone. "Fitzwilliam, look at me," she demanded. And then, with more intensity that suggested that he had cooperated, she went on: "You must be wondering why I accompanied Jane and my brother to see your wife give birth to your child, considering my obvious distaste for the woman. It is because I need to talk to you.

"I see your pain. I know you—you got out of your arranged marriage to your ridiculous cousin Anne by allowing your current crush to have your hand, and now, you are regretting the decision, after having to live with her."

"Caro—"

"Please. I have not come to criticize. I have come because I have thought this out—believe me, I have. And I have decided that it matters not to me that I shall be the second choice, the second bride. Should you care to divorce her, and if I know you, then you do, I am willing to let you have me."

It was silent for a long time. Finally, Caroline cut it sharply:

"Say something!" she demanded.

"A moment!" said Mr. Darcy. "I am gathering my thoughts."

Several more seconds passed. Finally, Mr. Darcy began carefully, slowly, as if it was imperative that she understood what he said and yet he was unsure how to convey this to her. There was also a curious edge of both fury and pity to his tone.

"Caroline, you do not know me. You do not know me if you misinterpret my feelings for my wife in such a way. I loved her more than I thought myself capable when I proposed to her, and my regard has done nothing but grow—exponentially! Caroline, the more I see of her, the more I fall in love with her. I miss her when we are apart, and when we are near I feel it is not near enough. I do not know how I can make you understand how wrong you are. Had she been a nothing but a crush, I certainly would not have gone through the hell that I did to secure her hand. The last thing that I would ever wish to do, and quite literally the last thing, Caroline, save hurting one of my children, would be to willfully part from her forever."

Miss Clairfield was both awed and moved at the beautiful speech. She instantly felt very stupid for her earlier staring. Miss Bingley was quiet for a while, and Miss Clairfield pitied the woman with quite obviously little sense. How she must be hurting right now! To be so very wrong! But Mr. Darcy had been very kind to her, not to speak of how ridiculous she was.

"But I don't see how you could…" she trailed off. "And then all of that angry pacing a moment ago! Was that not agitation with her and her family?"

"You misinterpret me, Caroline. That was worry—worry for her and our child! And anxiousness—you have no idea how excited I am to see them finally. And surely a little agitation for her mother, but my regard has grown a little for the woman since I have come to understand her love for her children."

"I guess I should leave now, and not trouble you with my presence."

"Caroline, do not feel the need to remove yourself so soon—"

"I am quite mortified, Mr. Darcy, and confess that it may be best for myself should I go as soon as possible."

Miss Clairfield judged from her tone that mortification was not an emotion that she often felt, and that it was a feeling that she absolutely despised.

"As you wish," Mr. Darcy said quietly. "I wish you the best, Caroline. Truly. Find someone that is to you what Elizabeth is to me. I promise to you that nothing will give you greater happiness."

All Miss Clairfield heard then were quick footsteps, and she knew Caroline Bingley to be gone from Pemberley, likely for ever.

Mrs. Reynolds entered the library then, Fitzwilliam on her hip. The Clairfields exited the beautiful room, and as they passed Mr. Darcy, little Fizwilliam called to him.

"Daddy!" said the little boy, reaching for his father. Mr. Darcy took him and held him casually on his hip, smiling at his adorable face.

"He just threw up on Mrs. Bennet, Sir," Mrs. Reynolds stated.

Mr. Darcy chuckled quietly and muttered something under his breath that sounded something like: "Good for you, son."

But out loud, he said to the toddler, "Are you sick?"

And he started to walk into the parlor with him. On his way past her, Miss Clairfield caught his eye and smiled. It was a friendly smile, kind and warm with no hint of flirtation.

She knew now that he was taken in a more significant way than just husband and wife. That was considered to be the ultimate union, but Miss Clairfield knew that married men did not always consider themselves unavailable. Mr. Darcy was different. He was completely and wholly his wife's.

Mr. Darcy retreated into the parlor, thinking of Miss Clairfield's smile. There was a new respect in her eyes that made it quite clear to him that she had overhead his conversation. He didn't particularly mind. Let his love for his wife and poor Caroline Bingley's ignorance be known to the world. It was not as if each was not clear to the sensible observer.


	3. The Meyers

**A/N: Thank you so very, very much for all of your kind reviews last chapter. They made my day and certainly gave me motivation for this segment. Thanks again and please review!**

The Meyers

It was now 8 days, 4 hours, and 54 minutes since Mrs. Meyer had wed her husband. The fact that she knew this immediately as she looked at the great clock in the grand parlor of Pemberley House was a testament to the joy that her wedding to Mr. Meyer had brought her. She had never been happier than on that day, save perhaps when he proposed, or perhaps one of the days—or nights, she admitted shyly to herself—that had followed her wedding.

Mrs. Meyer was a pretty girl of only eighteen years, short and slender with milky white skin and large eyes fringed with think and soft dark lashes. She was almost of a doll-like beauty, and this was what initially attracted Mr. Meyer, an amiable and mildly wealthy country gentleman, to her, the shy and slightly dim daughter of a poor trader.

Mr. Meyer was older, four and twenty, and had wavy golden-blonde hair and a good-natured countenance. He adored his wife immensely, for she would become, he was sure, what he wanted her to be: his pretty partner that stayed at home and tended to the house. Their conversations were not particularly deep, nor did he find her particularly funny, and he doubted that she would be involved much in the major decisions in life or that he would converse with her when he was particularly worried or joyful. Still, he was an independent man, and he shared a connection with his quiet, pretty little bride that was something resembling love, or at least, liking, even if it was a feeling devoid of much respect for her. He was certainly fond of her, at the least. And it was quite clear to any observer, including himself, that he was anything that she had ever hoped for in her marriage. He thought that they would likely be reasonably happy with each other.

Of course, they would never own a house like Pemberley, nor, from what the servant was telling them, would they admire each other as much as the Mr. and Mrs. Darcy of the household. But both Meyers were okay with this—they were getting anything that they had expected out of life, and it was unfair to ask for more.

They toured the house, Mrs. Meyer's mouth often agape in awe at the beauty and Mr. Meyer internally ranting that people were born into places like this that had never worked a full day in their life and yet they get the elegant parties and wives that they adore, and how is that fair?

Upon entering the grounds, Mrs. Meyer declared herself fatigued. Mr. Meyer was more than a little peeved, for the only reason he enjoyed these houses were for their grounds. She declared, softly and kindly, that she did not mind waiting for him in the carriage, and they parted with good grace.

Mr. Meyer was honestly a bit happy to be free from his wife for a little while, and took to his exploration of the grounds with a happy, rather slow, walk.

How good it was to be alone, after many days of hardly being separated from his new wife. He took in the trees and the stream and the footpath with genuine felicity.

Curiosity soon overtook happiness as his dominant emotion, however, for as he moved down the path towards a small lake, he heard voices. Suddenly, two women, a blonde and a brunette, came into view, sitting on a small stone bench overlooking the lake. They were sitting with their backs to him, but when the blonde spoke they faced each other, so that their profiles were visible to him. Instinctively, he hid quickly behind a tree.

"You really like him, Lizzy?" one of them said anxiously. Mr. Meyer came out from the tree to get a look at them—he didn't think that he was in great danger of being seen. Lizzy was a nickname for Elizabeth, which is what he had thought Mrs. Darcy's first name was, and she was certainly as beautiful as the servant had gushed. Could this be the Mistress of this fine house? Mr. Meyer concluded that it was.

It was not Mrs. Darcy who had talked, though. Rather, it was the blonde sitting next to her, and now Mrs. Darcy was smiling at her and tucking a lock of hair behind her ear in a way that was so motherly, Mr. Meyer was momentarily shocked that the blonde had called her mother by her first name. But then he saw that the brunette was too young to be this girl's mother—Mrs. Darcy didn't even look as if she was out of her twenties, and the other girl looked to be in her late teens, or perhaps in her twenties herself.

"Of course I like him, you silly, silly girl! You think that your brother and I would give our consent had we the slightest objection to him? We are not giving you away lightly, Georgie. I daresay Fitzwilliam was in more pain when James asked permission for your hand than my own father was when your brother asked for mine. And that was quite a lot, sweetheart, for remember that my father thought that I hated him!"

"Your father still thought that you hated my brother when he proposed?"

"Oh surely! My entire family did, even Jane! That was quite an ordeal, I tell you, to reassure them that I truly did love your brother when there was so much motive for me to marry him for other, less noble reasons."

"Oh, I am sorry I missed their reactions," the girl called Georgie laughed. "Dearest Lizzy, marrying a man for money and connections when she had always sworn to marry for love or wind up an old maid! I am sure that they were out of their minds! But surely they knew that you loved him when they saw you together?"

"Oh, Jane knew the first time that she us look into each other's eyes, and Mary, too, I think. Kitty took longer to convince, and my mother also, although she was happy with the union regardless. My father knew of my true regard when I first talked to him, but continued to watch us for weeks for fear of me marrying someone that I did not love and admire most ardently," Lizzy smiled slightly. "I do believe it was one of his greatest fears—for me to marry poorly and wind up like him."

"Like him how?" Georgie inquired.

"Oh Georgie, certainly you have seen my parents together," said Mrs. Darcy, a hint of resigned sadness in her eyes and a depressing half-smile on her lips. "He only just puts up with her, and is almost driven out of his mind in doing it. He does not love her, Georgie. I think that much is clear to the world. One of his greatest fears had always been that I, so much like him, would have to settle for a similar fate. It's quite humorous, actually—my mother and my father's primary concerns with me have always been about my marriage, yet they were conflicting. My mother would rather me marry a rich man whom I despised, my father a man without a penny to his name that I actually loved. 'Tis a miracle that your brother satisfied both of them as my choice of husband, is it not?"

"Quite," Georgie laughed. "But I confess I think your father the wiser man in matters of marriage."

"Oh, my Georgiana, you have no idea how much it pleases me to hear that, especially considering very recent circumstances. I am so glad that you see him as more than just an acceptable match."

"Yes…" said Georgiana quietly. "I do. Although, well…no, never mind."

"Tell me, Georgiana. Please."

"I love James. I do. It makes me happy to be around him. But I can't help but worry…my feelings aren't as…intense…as they were for…for Wickham, you know. And I don't think that I ever truly loved Wickham, for how could I love him if I did not even know him? And so, if my feelings, which were not love, were stronger for Wickham, then how does it happen that I say I love James?"

"Sweetest, dearest, most lovely Georgiana…how can I say this in a way that will make you understand? The world, Dearest, is not so simple as to allow you to place your affections for people on a meter, for you feel differently about each and every one. Do you think it possible to rank your feelings for your brother and I with Wickham and James? Certainly not, for there are different types of love. Some come on strong, some grow with age. Sometimes, as in my case, hate morphs itself somehow into the opposite. Just as you feel differently for Fitzwilliam than you do James, you feel different for James than you do for Wickham. But be honest with me, Georgiana, for considering the events of this morning I will not sleep at all unless I am sure. Do you really love James? Enough to make you happy with him, forever?"

It took Georgiana a very long time to answer, a fact that would have worried Mr. Meyer had he been in Mrs. Darcy's place, but Mrs. Darcy looked perfectly at ease.

"Yes. I can tell that my love for him is different than the type of love that you and Fitzwilliam have, but it would be foolish of me to hope for such a love as yours. My love is softer, less obvious, less passionate or dramatic. It's the kind that can be confused, even by myself sometimes, as you just witnessed, for friendly regard. But it's more than that, too. I don't know, Lizzy. I can't explain it. But I have every hope of being happy with James. I wouldn't talk of us as 'soul mates', or 'destined for each other'. More like we fit together, and I am so rarely cross with him. Yes, Lizzy, yes, I would definitely say I love him."

"That brings me joy, Georgie. Although I am not sure that it can overshadow my sadness at the knowledge that I will soon be a three-day's journey from your home. You must convince him to move closer, or at least stay with us often."

Horse hooves could be heard then, rapidly approaching, and Mr. Meyer hid behind his tree again.

"I was wondering where my ladies had gone off to. I certainly did not expect to see you on my afternoon ride." He dismounted the horse. "Dear Georgiana, I just finished visiting with James, and I am so very fond of him. He will be good for you."

Mr. Meyer could tell, though, without looking, that Mr. Darcy's eyes would be filled with sadness.

It was silent for a very long time, and Mr. Meyer snuck a peek at the group and saw Mr. Darcy sitting in the middle of the bench, his wife and the other woman on either side of him. He had an arm around each, and they sat comfortably for a while.

"We will miss you, my Dearest sister," Mr. Darcy said quietly to Georgiana, his voice making it quite clear that he was crying. It was clear that Mr. and Mrs. Darcy saw his sister as something of a daughter, and Mr. Meyer was positive that the other two women on the bench were shedding their own tears as well.

After minutes of sad but contented quiet, Mr. Darcy broke the silence, with a voice that sounded determinetely cheerful.

"And now, let us no longer be somber, for we must celebrate! I do think it time that we dress for dinner; it will certainly be a rather festive meal tonight…"

And they got up slowly and walked off, talking happily, with just a hint of sadness, of their plans for celebration.

Mr. Meyer went to sit on the now vacated bench.

It was still warm from the three people that had sat there just a moment before, pondering their collective joy and sadness. He took in the warmth, placing his hands face down on either side of him.

He had been happy to be rid of his wife just minutes before, but now he wished her beside him. He had assumed that he would avoid her largely, once they were married, but now perhaps he should reconsider. For sitting there, on that warm bench, he wanted nothing more than a family, than a person that he would cry for when they left him.

He thought that perhaps, he could grow to really, truly, love his wife. Not like the legendary, sweeping, passionate love of Mr. and Mrs. Darcy, but more like Georgiana's quiet, unassuming love that brought her comfort. He thought that he could do that.

Oh, how he longed for his wife, to sit there with him and look out at the countryside.

They would have to buy a bench like this.


End file.
